


Belonging

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: D/s, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Michael enter into a consensual D/s relationship, which may develop into something very serious before long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

It started the way most things in Michael Westen's life began - through an accident of someone else's design. He had been helping Sam move his things to Ms. Reynold's house, a thankless afternoon of hauling boxes back and forth. In taking a final Tupperware container into Sam's bedroom, he'd accidentally knocked over another nondescript blue bin already sitting on his mattress.

Michael's skin prickled with curiosity and embarrassed amusement as he beheld a small collection of what could only be termed 'adult aids'; vibrators and plugs of various size, a group of whips, and a riding crop .

All in all? Much more cringe worthy than seeing Sam's thong.

"Hey Mikey, I..." Sam's timing was impeccable, as always. Michael turned around to see him standing in the doorway, wide-eyed, with another box of clothing. Michael refused to meet his eyes as he backed away from the bed, or at Sam, who kept his own gaze trained on Michael's face as he backed out of the room. They labored in awkward silence for a few more hours, silence that didn't dissolve when they sat down to split a couple of beers on the patio.

It was Sam who broke the ice. "Mikey, I hope this doesn't come off sounding weird but...are you interested?"

Michael frowned over the top of his beer. "In another beer? Sure."

Sam shook his head. "No, are you INTERESTED?"

Michael frowned. "Try speaking English, Sam."

"Or maybe Farsi?" Michael's glare caused Sam to let out a grunt. "When I went into my room, it looked like you wanted to know why I have all those whips and..."

"Uh...no." But it sounded to Michael that he sounded pretty interested. Sam's eyes pierced him, then turned again to the warm and friendly look they always had.

"No pressure. If you're ever want to try anything, just let me know."

  
***

Michael was alarmed by how interested he really was. Tossing in bed that night, he rolled over Sam's words in his head. It wasn't that the connection of pain and sex were anything new to him - his now-dead relationship with Fiona was evidence of that, even if it was more her preference than his. What bothered Michael was the idea of allowing Sam to control him, even with his permission. He wasn't the sort of man to cede that to anyone, and they both knew it. The last time he'd tried it Sam had ended up with a bloody lip.

Still, a menagerie of recycled images - clipped from old porn movies, magazines, and from the aforementioned job - waltzed through Michael's head on metal-studded heels. No one knew he had done a lot more than just wield a whip that month - he had learned how to suck cock. And that he was GOOD at sucking cock. The memory made Michael reach for himself under the silky sheets and began the familiar process of lazily stroking himself hard. The images accompanying him were now a chop suey of sexual thoughts, vanilla and kinky, tanned bodies straining in ecstasy on a rack, juicy cocks bound in leather and wet pussies adorned with clothespins, flushed faces with mouths agape with ball gags...

The image that made him come was of Sam Axe's face, flushed in sexual triumph, holding out a rock-hard cock with a demanding gleam in his eyes, telling him to suck on it.

***

Sam waited for him at Carlitos the following afternoon, a file of names related to the latest case at the wait, idly sipping a mojito. He jumped involuntarily when Michael dropped his sunglasses onto the table.

"Long night?" he asked idly, looking from the sunglasses to Michael's face.

"Mmm." Michael said, sitting down. "Did you get the bank records for the Marcosi case?"

Sam had done that. The two of them hashed out their plans for the final showdown until they had a good idea of what would happen the following night. With that settled, the uncomfortable silence returned. Michael sipped his water. Sam started tapping his fingers against the top of the table, staring at the ocean, watching the locals bounce by in their skimpy togs.

Michael took a deep breath. "I'm interested."

They had spoken in the same moment. "....Did I say - " Sam's left eyebrow rose and he cut himself off. After glancing over his shoulder to make sure that their waitress hadn't returned to ask Sam for her much-delayed tip, he leaned in closer. "Are you sure, Mikey?"

Michael's sigh exposed his irritation. "I wouldn't have said it if I weren't."

Sam took a moment to absorb his friend's statement. Then he leaned back in his chair and grinned widely.

Michael reached for his sunglasses. "We're going to have to set up some ground rules..."

Sam reached out for his hand and stopped his motion. "First rule: no wearing your sunglasses when we're playing." Michael glared. "I want to see your eyes the first time I punish your little ass." Michael's eyes widened in surprise. Sam immediately went quiet. "Do you want me to stop? Or should I keep going?"

Michael immediately wondered what he had gotten himself into. But he nodded.

  
***

Sam waited until the job had been settled and their client paid off before bringing it up again. He arranged for Michael to meet him at Ms. Reynold's house and - in the back bedroom while she was out at a meeting of her book club - they drafted an agreement between the two of them. Sam promised not to mark Michael in any permanent way, to stop when Michael spoke the safety word, and - when they had a client - not to mark him anywhere that might be visible and jeopardize Michael's cover. Michael in turn agreed to obey Sam's orders fully when they were issued, without question, and to address him as 'Master Sam' during playtime. All in all, typical Sam - carefully organized, in a way that kept everyone alive and breathing.

"What do you want the safety word to be?" Sam asked. Michael paused, a spoonful of yogurt halfway to his mouth. "What?" Sam asked.

"That's something I never thought I'd hear you say," Michael remarked.

"You can trust me, brother. I won't do anything you don't beg me for." Sam smirked, signing the piece of paper with his usual slapdash signature. "And you're going to beg me tonight."

Michael gulped, involuntarily aroused by the promise, and finished off the yogurt, tossing the empty container and spoon into the bedside trash can. "Quit," he said.

"Quit?" Sam scrawled the word onto the contract.

"It's my least-favorite word."

Sam nodded, pushing the document across the bed to Michael, who scanned the document with his eyes before adding his signature to it. He put the pen down and looked over at Sam. "Now what?"

Sam leaned across the bed to open the top drawer of the bedside table and pulled out two objects - a pair of brand-new leather gloves, a thin silver chain and a small bottle of lubricant. He traded his gold necklace for the silver chain first. "Whenever I put on this, that means I'm ready to play. You can turn me down just by saying 'quit' - any time you want." Sam tugged the gloves on, flexed his fingers and watched the light reflect off of their surface. "Do you want to quit, Mikey?" Michael knew his friend deliberately used the fond endearment to remind his closest friend that he was still Sam Axe, part-time lush and full-time lay about.

"No," Michael said. Sam had nearly died for him once; he knew that his best friend would never go too far. "What comes next?"

All at once, Sam's expression hardened - his voice deepening and his tone sharpening. "We play, slut." When Michael didn't say or do anything in response, he barked out. "On your knees. Now."

On later reflection Michael would be stunned by how quickly he complied. Sam got up off the bed and circled him, predatory, a glint in his eyes. "Strip, slave. Now, but don't leave the floor."

"Yes, Master Sam," he said, obeying quickly. He noticed Sam's ogling, and tried not to indicate that he noticed - it would buck his subservient pose. Bemused, he tried to fold his pants and shirt, only to have Sam tap his ass lightly with the toe of his loafer. "Leave them where they are." Michael did as his master requested, keeping his head down. He realized abruptly that his dick was rosy and semi-hard simply from anticipating what Sam would do to him.

Sam remarked, "you've been a bad boy, slave. You dared to disobey your master this afternoon."

Michael strained to remember what he had done to disobey Sam. He remembered something he had said about meeting Bly even though Sam had advised him against it...and then he yelped in surprise as Sam's shoe brushed against his balls. His eyes automatically flew upward.

He looked up to see Sam staring down at him impassively. "Do you doubt your master's word?"

The tone of voice Sam used was genuinely scary. "No, Master Sam."

"You had to think about it. NEVER question your master, slut," Sam punctuated each work with a tap of the loafer to Michael's balls. It didn't really hurt but he winced at the touch anyway. "You'll have to be punished." He gathered the lube from the bedside table and walked across the room, to a rattan chair positioned against the farthest wall from the bed, right beside Mrs. Reynolds' vanity. "I'll go easy on you the first time, but I won't be this generous later."

Michael watched Sam's movements from his side vision. "Thank you, Master Sam."

Sam walked across the room and sat down in the chair, then spread his legs. "Crawl," he ordered.

Michael hunched forward onto his hands and followed Sam's order. "Head down," he barked once, and Michael immediately lowered his head, operating without a second thought.

The crawl seemed interminably long, but Michael eventually found himself kneeling before Sam.

"Stand up. Turn around," Sam said. Then, "bend over, and keep your ass in the air." Michael obeyed both requests, even though the posture left him feeling a little too exposed. He could barely see anything but his own folded thighs and raging erection, though his peripheral vision picked up the toes of Sam's loafers. The anticipation was awful and it made his skin prickle.

He shivered at the caress of Sam's gloved hand on his right cheek. He began massaging Michael's muscular but pliant buttocks, and speaking in a soothing, hypnotic voice. "You're a lucky slave. Do you know how many men would crawl across the desert just to feel my fingers on their ass?" Michael started to say something but it came out in an incoherent slurry of words. "Who told you to speak, slave?" A very light swat to his left cheek, barely enough to make it sting. "Spread those cheeks. Show me your hole." That was an awkward thing to accomplish when you're bent forward with a portion of your weight resting on your shoulder, but Michael accomplished it. "Pussy pink. It works on you, Mikey." Some part of Michael's conscious brain realized that Sam had called him 'Mikey' but he was too entranced by the sensation of Sam's fingers lightly brushing over his exposed pucker to care. He then heard the sound of a plastic cap snapping open, then felt the return of Sam's now-slippery finger...completely bare of the leather. Michael moaned at the warmth...

"Quiet," Sam ordered.

...And then he inserted the middle finger of his left hand into Michael's ass.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Michael thought to himself dazedly that he'd never noticed how thick Sam's fingers were before that day.

"Tight for a slut," Sam murmured, then pushed his index finger inside as well. That was a bit too much, and Michael groaned at the sensation. "Quit," he said clearly, and Sam withdrew one of the fingers instantly.

"Time for your correction. Fifty blows..."

"Fifty?" Michael interrupted.

"...Fifty-five for speaking out of turn."

"Quit," Michael said firmly.

Sam sighed, and his voiced changed tones again. "Forty?" Michael managed to put enough weight on his shoulders to allow him to turn his head and glare at Sam. "Okay. what do you want me to do?" Sam's finger wriggled in Michael's ass impatiently, making the man groan.

Michael paused to consider it. "You won't break the skin?"

"No. I promise."

Sam was nothing if not dependable. "Fifty-five," Michael agreed, getting back into position.

"Right," Sam's tone changed again. "Count them off..." Sam then swatted Michael's left cheek harder than he had before. The stinging sensation was nearly pleasant to Michael, but he could only grunt, not count, in response to the touch.

"I said count!" Sam ordered. "From the beginning," he added, stroking the skin he'd spanked before adding a harder tap than the previous one.

"...One...two....three..." Michael counted in time, while Sam alternated between massaging him gently and smacking his ass with firm, hard strokes of his right hand, his left rocking his finger into and out of Michael's slowly-loosening asshole, all the while murmuring aloud his plans for the future.

"Nice, fresh canvas to work with...unspoiled...your master loves it, slut, and here's what he's gonna do with it...gonna stretch this hole out, get it ready to take its master's cock...torture those balls a little...buy some pins for those tits...maybe some clamps...pinch them 'til you think you can't take it....drip some wax onto that skin, make it glow pink as this hole I'm fucking out...whip those thighs red...make you crawl for it...tie you up and drop you off at a truck stop bathroom and make you suck every lucky motherfucker who sticks his dick though the glory hole...fuck your face til you beg for me for it...And you're gonna beg, bitch..."

"...fifty-three...fifty-four...fifty-five!" Michael slumped forward in relief as the blows ceased. he could feel his ass throb and burn from the repeated blows, his asshole alive and tingling for the first time in a strangely pleasant way. "Thank you, Master Sam."

"Your ass gets so hot when I spank it, slut. I've got it glowing like a stoplight. Wish you could see it..." Suddenly Sam's voice came from right beside Michael's ear, and his finger withdrew from Michael's ass roughly. Michael's hair wasn't long enough for Sam to pull, so he jerked the younger man upright by grabbing him by his right shoulder. Suddenly Sam's face was pressed against the side of Michael's, his voice right in Michael's ear. "Next time, I'll get a full-length mirror."

Michael groaned, moving against Sam's touch. "Thank you, Master. Please..."

"Please?"

For some unnamed reason it was hard for Michael to make the final request. He just rolled onto his back on Ms. Reynolds' carpet, ignoring the sharp stinging of his buttocks and offering Sam the heavy length of his cock. "Please, Master..."

Sam knelt on the carpet beside Michael, touching his bare stomach with surprisingly delicate fingers. "You've made amends well, slave. But what have you done to deserve such happiness at your master's hand?"

"Please," Michael groaned. The unsated ecstasy grew like a wildfire under his skin, close to pain, drawing the veins in his prick out boldly.

"Please what?" Sam's fingers just added to the tension by tracing light circles around Michael's navel with his left hand, pairing them with sudden spanks and tugs to Michael's hard nipples.

"Please...suck me...stroke me...please, Master Sam..." He writhed on the carpet.

"Lie. Still." Sam's request made Michael stop moving instantly. "And?" Sam asked, casually.

"And I'll do whatever you want me to do." Michael gasped. He looked up at Sam and saw the unconcealed lust and affection in his friend's eyes.

Sam made him wait for it. He put the glove onto his right hand again, then poured a generous dollop of lube on the palm of each hand. Sam's index and fingers encircled the dark red precipice of Michael's erection. Then he stroked his way up and down his friend's length, his grip just a little too firm to be entirely comfortable.

"Close your eyes."

Michael did so, and grunted his pleasure.

"Since you've been such a good slave, your master will allow you to come. But only if you do it when he tells you to. Understood slave?"

"Uh...yes, Master Sam."

Sam chuckled. "Good little slut," he whispered, his free hand slipping lower, to cup Michael's balls. "Fuck, these are full. Have you been saving your load for your master like a good cumslut?"

"Uh. Yes. Yes, Master. Sam..." Michael's hips kept bucking upward, and Sam didn't correct his behavior - Michael's first hint that Sam was as into what was going on between them as he was. Michael had closed his eyes again, and Sam's voice came from closer nearby than it had before.

"Who does this dick belong to?" He alternated sharp squeezes there with gentle tugging motions, smooth rhythm with teasing strokes.

"You, Master."

"These balls?" Sam rubbed them.

"You, Master." Michael's tone began to take on a religious fervor.

"Who does this ass belong to?" Sam tapped Michael's bright cheeks just once with the hand he'd used to torture his balls.

"It's yours, Master."

"This mouth? Sam teased him by brushing his lips against Michael's, his rhythm evening out into a smooth regular stroking. Michael could the vibration of his friend's need as he lowered his lips to Michael's, pressing without initiating a kiss - a kiss that Michael did not dare to initiate when he was so close to orgasm.

"Yours, Master Sam." The words were nearly screamed in happy ecstasy.

"And your come?" Sam asked.

"Yours!"

Sam's voice came from beside Michael's left ear. "Then give it to me, slut. NOW."

He bit Michael's earlobe, which sent the ex-spy into a harsh convulsion. He yelled aloud, his cock throbbing hard, four wet pulses throwing bolts of come over Sam's fist and Michael's stomach. A thread of it even reached Michael's chin.

Michael was, for all intensive purposes, dead to the world for a good couple of minutes. Then he was aware of Sam's harsh breathing, of a zipper descending, and a beltbuckle hitting the floor.

He felt the heat of Sam's thighs on either side of his flanks, and the heat of his buttocks resting lightly on Michael's chest. He knew without opening his eyes that Sam was now straddling his chest.

That was when he smacked Michael's cheek with his dick.

"Open your eyes."

Michael did and looked up to see Sam's penis. It was exactly the sort of dick he expected a man of Sam's broadness to have - thick, strong-looking, primitive in its nest of gray-tinged dark hair. He was fully hard, the very tip of it glistening.

"This is your master's cock," Sam said, his voice still soothing. He tapped Michael's lips with his dick repeatedly as he told him, "he honors you by sharing it with such a lowly bitch."

"Yes, master," agreed Michael easily.

"Are you ready to worship it?" Michael responded by licking whatever bit of Sam's piece that his master offered him, inch-long lengths of its dusky pink shaft, the tip of the head, the base. "Huh?" he asked, reaching down to twist Michael's nipples. The gloves were, again, off.

Michael panicked for just a moment, and Sam noticed it instantly. He let go of his cock and ran a reassuring hand over the side of Michael's face.

Michael's next sentence came out in a choked breath. "Yes, master. Please, master."

"Good," Sam said, aiming the tip of his prick at Michael's gaping mouth. "Suck."

If Michael had been shocked by the ferocity with which he responded to the session, Sam was clearly shocked by the skill with which his cock was being sucked. "What the hell, Mikey..." he murmured, laughing softly, as Michael attacked his hard-on with enthusiasm.

Skilled enthusiasm.

He managed to get Sam to blow his wad in three minutes, and that was with Sam face-fucking him as if tomorrow would never come. Michael tilted his head back toward the end, allowing Sam full purchase of his throat, to shoot in his depths.

Michael didn't know how he managed to swallow everything Sam had given him with his head tilted backward, but he had. For a moment or two, Sam knelt over him, his hands bracing his weight up off the carpet far over Michael's head, his shoulders hunched and his forehead resting on the carpet.

Finally, Sam moved, withdrawing himself from Michael's mouth completely. "Good slave," Sam panted, climbing off of his new slave's chest. "Dismissed," he said, ending the scene.

Sam then sat down on the rug beside Michael. Michael, meanwhile, lay flat on his back, satisfied, enjoying the tenderness of his own flesh, the little thrills of pleasure still coursing through him.

But all good things had to come to an end, and Michael's afterglow did. When he opened his eyes, Sam sat a few inches away, naked from the waist down, his pastel green shirt unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders. His penis lay glistening but shrunken between his legs, his thick, hair-covered body glistening with a film of sweat.

And he was laughing.

"Jesus, Mikey, who taught you how to give head like that?"

Michael yawned and stretched. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked as he got up. Sam frowned; it apparently wasn't fun to have his own words thrown back in his face. Fully recovered, Michael offered Sam a hand up as well, then took a look a look at their surroundings. Apart from the scent of sex permeating the room, it looked as if it hadn't seen anything spicier than the lunch platter from Carlito's two-tacos-for-two-dollars-Tuesdays. Michael shrugged, sat down, winced at the sting in his buttocks as he gathered his clothes and started dressing.

"Did you have a good time?" Sam asked, avoiding his friend's gaze as he put the lube away, tossed out the gloves and opened a window to air out the room.

"Yeah." Michael said, firmly. "I did, Sam."

Sam actually grinned. Then he crossed the room and put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Next time, wear some black boxer briefs. Skin-tight." He reached down to stroke Michael's too sensitive cock, earning a shudder. "Something that shows this gorgeous piece of meat off. Got it?"

"Yes, Master," Michael said back - with a smile on his face.

  
***

In the months that ensued, Sam dubbed Michael 'The Picasso of Submission'. Michael would stare at Sam when he complimented him that way; if anything they were the masters of DIY bondage. But Sam was insistent about the accuracy of his declaration.

"I'm serious, Mikey. You never do anything half-way - you should be proud of yourself."

Michael remained all business. "Sam, that's just a cute way of saying you want my knees next to my ears ASAP."

Sam did want that - and Michael propped over the arms of an easy chair, gagged, his wrists and ankles bound elaborately with duct tape as Sam roughly fucked him with a dildo; handcuffed to the bedpost while Sam sprinkled his body with candle wax, making patterns in white and blue and leaving barely-noticeable pale pink marks behind; to make Michael crawl across the floor with a cat o'nine tails in his mouth; to carefully array his body with a dozen clothespins; to pierce his nipples with small needles and, with exquisite delicacy, remove them, shedding not a drop of his buddy's blood; to watch Michael ride his fingers, unleashed, lost in desire; whipping his ass this side of raw with his belt; to flick the dial on the wireless remote that connects to the plug buried in Michael's ass and watch him squirm until he firmly told Sam to 'quit'; to tie Michael's hands and ankles together and use him as a living footstool while Michael enthusiastically rode the vibrator stuffed base-deep into his ass, held in Sam's free hand while he watched football; to take pictures of his best friend on his knees, his eyes vacant and his face coated with Sam's cream. Throughout it all, Sam would stop whenever Michael said 'quit'- and Michael submitted himself with a combination of abandon and bemusement.

Some part of Michael was fascinated by the fact that he and Sam played parts in their interaction as slave and master - under cover to the end, until the scene was declared over. It was reassuring in certain ways - it didn't allow them to think about what they were saying and doing for too long.

Sam seemed to ignore the bemusement. He said he would do anything for Michael, as a caring dom and friend...except introduce his cock into his friend's warm ass. No, he was saving that for a special occasion, waiting until he could penetrate him without hurting him, tantalizing Michael with the promise of it, introducing his body to plugs and vibes of slowly increasing size until, finally, Michael could take a dildo the size of Sam's prick with enthusiasm. When the time was right, Sam planned on fucking Michael with all of the force he desired; until then Sam satisfied himself with the mouth and hands of his slave. And if he did anything more on the side - with a woman, with Ms. Reynolds in particular - he didn't discuss it with Michael.

Six months after they had successfully saved another client and were flush with money, they had a celebratory dinner at Madeline's place. It was for Fiona and Campbell, who had just gotten engaged and insisted on boring everyone to tears with their wedding plans. Michael was on the verge of asking Fi how she could stand living with someone as sweet-natured as Campbell without killing him when he noticed the marks on Campbell's wrists, and the small hickey on Fi's shoulder that her dress did not hide.

Sam noticed them as well. "To passion," he toasted the happy couple, looking Michael dead in the eyes.

Michael glared at Sam - he knew exactly what Sam was thinking of, the afternoon Michael had blown Sam in Fi's apartment, on the white duvet she prized so highly. Sam had deliberately jerked Michael's head away from his spurting prick, coating Michael's face and neck with his cream. It was a gesture of ownership, and a subtle jab at Fiona on Sam's part, but fortunately the furniture hadn't been wrecked.

Yet.

The memory had its way with Michael's body - he crossed his legs, not bothering to conceal his anger for Sam. The last thing he wanted was a hard-on at his mother's table.

Before Michael could escape his mother's house, Madeline had cornered him and given out the how-could-you-let-Fiona-slip-away-speech, which Sam managed to extricate him from. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mikey, are you free tonight?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Did you want to get a drink at Carlitos or..." Michael trailed off.

Sam was wearing the silver chain.

"Your place, after the party?"

"Sounds fine," Michael said.

"Wearing the briefs?"

"Yeah."

Sam moved closer. "And the plug?"

"Quit."

"Damn." Sam chuckled softly. "Sorry, Mikey."

"No you're not..." Michael leaned back into him, his hand ghosting over the bulge in Sam's pants. Lately he'd been testing the limits of his consensual submission. What was the saying? In side every dominant there was a sub just cringing to get out? He'd already seen Sam's submissive side, and he wanted to draw it out. "Your cock sure as hell isn't."

Sam caught his hand and pushed him away. "Not in your mother's house." Neither of them wanted Madeline to catch them, so the encounter ended that way, with both of them longing for the evening.

***

That night, Sam stripped in the loft's bathroom and came to Michael's bed wearing nothing but a pair of black boots, the silver chain and a pair of leather gloves; Michael waited for him, fully dressed but his head bowed low. Sam practically ripped Michael's clothing off, then showed his slave a small, silken black blindfold before tying it over his eyes.

"Can you hear me, slut?"

"Yes, master." Michael said.

"Kneel." Michael felt Sam cup the back of his head and press his face into Sam's cock. "Lick."

Michael silently obeyed, tasting the salt of Sam, struggling to get the head into his mouth. Sam allowed Michael a brief taste of the tip repeatedly, until he pulled it, rock-hard, from his gaping mouth.

"Not tonight, slut." Sam had reached out for his hand and awkwardly dragged him to his feet - they had never invested in a leash and collar for their own personal play, not wanting to bother with long explanations that an awkward discovery might bring.

Those were, after all, the things that had sent them on this journey.

Sam fairly carried Michael to the bed and dumped him there. "Gimmie your arm," he ordered, and then Michael felt the cool ring of metal encircle his right wrist. Then his left, followed by the sound of two pairs of handcuffs clicking shut.

Then he felt something slightly warmer than the handcuffs slip around the head of his cock - well-lubricated, Sam eased it down the length of his shaft. A cockring.

"What do you think of your present, slave?" Sam followed the question up by teasing the tip of his friend's prick with his leather-padded fingers.

"Feels so good, Master Sam," Michael gasped.

"Looks damn good, too. Much better since you shaved your pubes off; makes your dick look bigger." Sam's voice came from closer nearby. "But it's never gonna be bigger than mine, slut." He followed that up with a carefully-placed slap to Michael's prick.

Michael's blood seemed to boil as he felt Sam's hot breath bathe his neck. He sunk his teeth into Michael's exposed neck, bruising him just where his collar would meet his throat. The sound Michael made was very close to a keening - He bucked up into the nothingness, instinctively seeking Sam's weight.

"Keep those legs spread. I want to see that pussy at all times." Then Michael felt Sam's hand grabbing at his legs, and suddenly a soft pillow was shoved under his hips - a makeshift substitute for a bench or sling, but a workable substitute none the less - it lifted Michael's ass into the air, an offering. "Keep. The. Legs. Spread..." Michael shivered, spreading his legs out. "Don't make me tie those down too." Michael obeyed, leaving himself spread-eagled, his ass propped up like an offering on the pillow.

"Now that's a treat for your master," Sam growled. "Who does this ass belong to?"

"You, Master Sam."

"Are you proud to give that ass to me?"

"Yes, master. I'm proud to give my cherry ass to you, master."

"Not quite cherry now, slave," Sam corrected. "We've given that fucker a good stretching lately. Should still feel tight enough for me, though."

Michael bucked up when he felt Sam's fingers test his tender nipples. Sam immediately ceased his touch. "This is a reward for all my hard work, slut. Don't make me punish you now."

The cool, detached part of Michael's psyche - the one that was in 24/7 voiceover mode - couldn't help but notice that Sam was stalling. The horny and submissive section of his brain, however, was fully in control. "Sorry, master. I want to give myself to you so much, master."

"Patience, slave," Sam replied. Michael heard and felt nothing for a few minutes. Then the mattress dipped, and he felt something warm caress his exposed hole. A lubricant - first slicked just outside the entrance, then gently pushed inward, slicking every surface within Michael's yielding ass. "I should whip you for taking out the plug, but...I'm glad you did. Gonna make you so tight on my bone..."

The mattress shifted again as Sam moved into position. "Legs up and spread...yes, there's my slut..."

Michael shuddered at the feeling of Sam's cock poised to enter him. Sam deliberately teased his way into Michael's open asshole - easing himself in an inch at a time, unable to mask his groans of delight as he pushed inward, hilting himself.

For his part, Michael shivered. He had taken dildos roughly Sam's size before, but not a real man. Not his master.

Not the man he loved.

It was a strange time to realize it, but Michael was comforted by the notion.

"Good, bitch?" Sam asked.

"Uhh," Michael groaned. "Yess, Master."

Sam's right hand reached down for Michael's cock. He stroked the inches above the cockring, then took the entire shaft in his big left hand, his free one locked around Michael's left leg, using it for leverage. He began sawing his cock in and out of Michael's yielding backdoor. "Nasty piece of meat. Dripping all over me....all for me..."

"Yes!" Michael agreed.

Sam began grunting; he tried to bend Michael's leg backward, bowing his body in half, thrusting more rapidly, yanking off the cock ring and stroking him into a frenzy, "Who owns this hole? Who owns this cock? Who owns you?" Sam growled.

"You do!" Michael howled, losing control, coming in a flood over the both of them.

"Fuck yes," Sam growled. "You belong to me. You. Are. MINE. Mikey!" Sam's orgasm sent a scorching sensation through Michael, one that he knew he would grow to adore and anticipate. What he didn't anticipate the kiss that accompanied that declaration; he nearly choked on Sam's tongue as it jammed its way into his mouth. All of the aggression slowly ebbed away, and the kiss lasted, melting them together, soothing them, cooling them.

After a moment, Sam pulled out and away from Michael with a groan. Michael heard the handcuffs click open, and felt the blindfold slip away. It took him a good minute to open his eyes, and when he did he saw Sam watching him with mild chagrin.

"Dismissed," Sam breathed out. Michael looked down at himself - coated in a sticky mixture of their come and sweat, his body a canvas for the need between he and Sam that had been raging secretly for months.

"I guess you shouldn't respect me anymore," Sam said dryly, once he got his breath back. "Sorry, Mikey, you go right to my head - both of 'em."

Michael frowned. "Anyone who can run interference for me and fuck the hell out of me all on the same day gets more than my respect."

Sam shook his head. "I didn't mean to kiss you...I just...got carried away." He gestured helplessly. "I shouldn't use this as some kind of emotional leverage on you or make you think we have to be together for us to do this. I really don't want to suck you into something you're not ready for, Mikey, but...I've gotta tell you I've got some strong feelings going on here, one that don't have anything to do with sex."

Michael turned over onto his side, to face Sam. He looked handsome, somehow roguish in his black boots and disarrayed hair, leaning on the mattress. He took Michael's silence for a rejection. "I think I'm gonna go get a beer. A lot of beer."

With a hand pressed to the crook of Sam's elbow, he stopped him. "What if I have the same feelings?"

Sam gave him an incredulous look. "I knew I was pushing you too hard..."

"Sam..."

"Mikey, your main thing is women. And it'll always be woman." By that, Michael knew, Sam meant 'Fiona'.

"That sounds more like you, Sam." Sam grunted in response, denial or ascent, Michael could not understand. "If this is about Fiona, don't worry about her. I didn't trust her to tie me up and spank my ass with a spatula, did I?" Sam gave him a smirk. He could already see wicked plans for the future gleaming in his best friend's eyes. "Fiona and I are history now, Sam; we were history before she got together with Campbell. But we'll always be friends and if we get into a relationship that goes beyond this? You're going to have to accept that."

Sam frowned, but seemed to agree. "Will you at least promise to call me first from now on?"

Michael groaned at the idea, then changed tactics. "Sam, why haven't you dragged Ms. Reynolds' name into this conversation?"

"Uh yeah, about that..." Sam began. "We broke up last week. I've been living at Maddy's since Wednesday."

"She dumped you?" Michael wondered if Ms. Reynolds had accidentally witnessed something, then worried about her telling Madeline.

Sam shook his head. "My decision. Didn't like two-timing either of you - believe it or not, you both deserve better than that. Told her it was all on me."

"Still a boy scout, Sam?" Michael asked.

Sam grinned. "I know my knots, don't I?" Michael almost cracked a smile. "I think it's time to drop the boy scout shit. So what if we're good guys? We'll be two good guys..." he nibbled Michael's earlobe, "with two big, long kinky streaks...who can take each other any damn way they please to, 'cause they're old enough to know how to treat each other right."

Michael kissed his way across Sam's jaw. "Okay."

"So...do you still want to be my little slut?" Sam asked.

Michael shivered and nodded his head.

"And more?"

Michael peered at Sam. "Are you making an offer, Sam?"

Sam responded by suddenly turned away from Michael and reached over the side of the bed. Unzipping his duffel bag, he reached in and withdrew a thin, long box. "Happy collaring," Sam laughed, placing it in Michael's open left hand. "Thought it was about time I bought you one of these. There's supposed to be a whole ceremony that goes with it, but I think you've partied enough for one night."

Michael opened the white, velvet-flocked case. Inside was a thin leather anklet, slim enough to be neatly worn and hidden by tastefully hemmed suit pants, adorned with no further decoration but a silver padlock.

A small, closed silver padlock.

"And yeah, I got it with my own money," Sam said

Michael eyed the anklet dryly. "Trying to get me into jewelry, Sam?"

Sam scooted closer to Michael on the bed. "Did it work?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've tempted me into something."

Sam grew serious. "You know what this would mean, if you put this on, even if we can't live the lifestyle full time. I mean, if your notice gets cleared you could be on the next plane to..."

Michael cut off Sam's speech by pressing an open palm to his lips. Sam could only communicate with his eyes, and in them lay trust, hope, and love.

He had only one more question. "...And if I bought one for you?"

They both knew what that would mean. That saying yes would mean that Sam's trust in Michael was as strong as Michael's trust in Sam and - in spite of the confidences he had broken in the past - that he would always hold equal faith in Michael.

"Never been a sub." Sam confessed. "But I think I could try switch with you. And something vanilla, if you want it. We've both been around the block a few times here, but I gotta tell you I'm serious. I'm not just offering you a dom here, Mikey. I'm offering you a relationship. I know we both kind of suck at those but...I want to try with you. Everything. Anything you want."

Michael silently extended his left leg, and Sam bent to strap the anklet on. It looked right, strapped there, binding him to Sam without the futile use of words.

"Feel good?" Sam asked.

Michael nodded.

"Looks good," Sam concluded. Michael was half-asleep when Sam spoke up, "Mikey, I've gotta admit something. I left those toys on the bed hoping you'd find them."

Michael rose a brow and stared at his friend. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's nothing weird on my part, I swear. I'd never even considered fucking you until I saw you with Gilroy."

"Gilroy?"

"C'mon, Mikey, he clearly wants to get in your pants."

Michael groaned. "Yeah. I thought that was just me."

"It's not." Sam said. "Anyway, I knew I'd rather be damned than let Gilroy touch you." Sam traced Michel's spine. "I wanted you all to myself." Michael leaned into Sam's embrace, adding nothing to the conversation. He'd rather be Sam's, too. "Do you know what else that thing stands for?" Sam asked wrapping an arm around Michael and pulling him closer, his big toe tracing the length of the anklet.

"Mmm?" Michael tilted his head for a kiss.

Sam cupped the back of Michael's head. Before their lips met in a full kiss, Sam concluded, "it means you belong to me."


End file.
